


The Ungrateful Dead

by 1917farmgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, Gen, Humor, Post-Battle of Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:13:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6521176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1917farmgirl/pseuds/1917farmgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <img/>
  </p>
  <p>"Welcome," the man said softly, rising to his feet. "Wasn't I just…" Fred gulped, unable to stop his thoughts from tumbling out into words, no matter how terrifying they were. "Didn't I just <i>die</i>?"</p>
  <p>
    <i>Banner by Apocalyspe @TDA. </i>
  </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	The Ungrateful Dead

Author’s Note: This has elements of a crossover, but in concept only, and it’s a very loose interpretation at that. The other universe I’ve borrowed from is that of Stargate, SG-1. Neither Harry Potter nor Stargate belong to me.

This story was written for the House Cup 2010 Competition on HPFF. Go Gryffindor!

 

**The Ungrateful Dead**

_“If you obey all the rules you miss all the fun.”  
\- Katherine Hepburn_

*****

 **“You actually _are_ joking, Perce…. I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were –”** *

The world around him was suddenly filled with blinding light, flying stone, and pain. Lots and lots of pain. He heard cries and shouting, heart-rending wails and then everything sort of faded away, dissolving into a darkness that was still and void.

*****

Gasping, Fred jerked up, his eyes flying open. 

He was sitting on a bland stone floor, nondescript pillars and foliage surrounding him. A man in a beige robe sat on a bench at his feet, watching him silently.

Still sucking in great breaths, Fred tried to calm his pounding heart.

“Welcome,” the man said softly, rising to his feet.

“Wasn’t I just…” Fred gulped, unable to stop his thoughts from tumbling out into words, no matter how terrifying they were. “Didn’t I just _die_?” The words sent shivers all through him. He did _not_ want to be dead. There were still things that needed to be done, tricks that needed to be played, jokes that needed to be invented! More importantly, there were people who needed _him_ – his brothers, his mum, George…

“Yes…” the man answered, unworried.

Panic rising, Fred hurriedly slapped himself all over. Legs – check. Arms – check. Head – check. And everything seemed most decidedly solid, which was really messing with his vision of the afterlife. He climbed to his feet, taking a moment to marvel that he still had them.

“But I’m still…here! I’m still…me!” he couldn’t help blurting out.

“…and no,” the man finished, again without a flicker of emotion.

Fred paused, eyes narrowing as he stared at the man. “Huh? Now you’ve lost me. Shouldn’t that be yes OR no? I don’t really reckon you can be both.”

“The lamp is not always ready for the light which burns within.”

Both Fred’s eyebrows (and yes, he was very glad to notice they were still around) shot upward at that. Out of habit, his hand reached into his pocket but of course his wand was no longer there.

“Wow…that was…very philosophical of you but it still doesn’t tell me what the _heck_ is going on!”

“Time will reveal all. For now, you must come,” he said, gesturing forward with an arm to a path Fred only now noticed.

Being the obliging bloke that he was, Fred dug in his heels and stayed put. 

“You’re St. Peter, aren’t you?” he demanded, arms crossed. 

“I have been known by many names throughout the years. Now, you really must come.”

Stubbornly, Fred shook his head. “My mum told me never to go with strangers, and believe me, St. Whatsie-Whosie, you’re topping my list of strange at the moment.”

For the first time in his…death…the man showed a flicker of emotion. It was annoyance.

 _Good_ , thought Fred. _That makes two of us._

“A turtle out of its shell cannot understand that it is a turtle. _Now come_!” The gesture was less gracious this time.

“Merlin, you’re worse than Trelawney,” Fred muttered, running fingers through his very real feeling hair. “Look, I’m going to speak plainly, because I feel at least one of us should. I. Am. Not. Moving. Until. You. Tell. Me. What’s. Going. On.”

St. Annoying sighed. “I am the Decider. I watch the lives of Men. You led a life that sought to bring light and goodness to those around you therefore you have been deemed worthy. I shall be your guide.”

“Worthy of what?”

This time Fred knew he wasn’t imagining the cross expression. “Of Ascension. You have Ascended to a higher plane of existence, free from the troubles and constraints of the mortal world. Now come!”

“What if I don’t want to be ‘free from the troubles and constraints of the mortal world’?” Fred countered, not budging an inch. “I’m rather fond of that mortal world, as you call it, and have stuff I need to do there.”

“You do not have a choice!” snapped St. Boring. “Your human body has been turned into light – energy. There is nothing left.”

“Folks are gonna notice that,” Fred couldn’t help pointing out, unable to stop himself from imagining the looks on Ron and Percy and Harry’s faces when he dissolved into a puddle of light in front of them.

An entirely unpleasant expression on his visage now, St. Grumpy waved his arm and the world scattered around them. Fred gasped in surprise, but then his eyes narrowed in anger as he took in the new scene before him. Most of his family was gathered in a tight circle, tears pouring down their faces as they clung to each other in obvious grief. On the floor at their feet, his mother clutched a limp form, sobbing uncontrollably. With a jolt, Fred realized it was his own body. At its head, George knelt, looking lost and alone and broken.

“I thought you said I wasn’t dead!” he snapped, a hard anger filling him. “That I just dissolved into a new form or something and there was nothing left? They shouldn’t be there, crying over my body like that, if I’m not dead.”

“To the things of that world, the cares of your former life, you are dead. We have been leading souls to Ascension for millennia; do you not think we have ways of keeping it from those who are not ready? Now come, there are tasks awaiting you.” 

Fred ground his teeth and turned away, unable to watch his family suffering like that for even a minute more. “Send me back.”

The man just blinked at him. “What?”

“I said, send me back. I didn’t ask for this Ascension crap and I don’t want your bloody tasks. Send me back.”

“Retaking human form is not permitted!” the man snapped firmly. “We are wasting time!”

“Ah, ah, ah…,” said Fred, shaking his finger back and forth. “You just said it wasn’t permitted, which must mean it is possible. And since I don’t give a flying hippogriff about your rules and what is and isn’t permitted, you’d better send me back right now.”

“I cannot. Accept the great honor you have been given, free yourself from what you were, and _come with me_!” With a wave of his arm, the scene was gone and they were back in the Courtyard of Bland.

Being a logical, coolheaded person Fred then did what any rational Weasley who found himself arguing at the gates of heaven with St. Peter minus a wand would do – he decked him.

*****

Have you ever tried to hide in heaven? Fred had always prided himself on being rather good at evading authority. He’d escaped from Umbridge after all, flaunted You-Know-Who openly for over a year, and his mum _still_ didn’t know about that broken vase. But trying to out run persons who are omnipotent? Well, it gave fugitive a whole new meaning, not to mention the phrase “eyes in the back of the head.”

And this was a special heaven, apparently, the place where the “Ascended Beings” got to chill. On the whole, he found the landscape pathetically dull and very unhelpful. There were no dark alleys, no dodgy pubs, not even a semi-disreputable inn! He was beginning to think he’d avoided being found up to this point only because they were still reeling from the fact he had dodged the draft in the first place! But dumb luck wasn’t going to hold for long and if he ever wanted to get home instead of being dragged off to a glowy existence of boredom and bad metaphors, he needed a plan fast.

He leaned back against the polished, white wall he was hiding behind and sighed, wishing he had a map.

And then suddenly he did.

“Wow,” he breathed quietly, staring at the paper that was now resting in his lap. Thinking hard, he waved his hand and a tuna sandwich appeared, right on cue. He gazed dumb-struck for a good, long minute more before his face broke into a grin. “Wicked!” he said. 

Ascension, apparently, came with a pretty nifty set of perks, complete power being one of them. And someone had thought this was a good idea for him? He shook his head, marveling at the incompetence of bureaucrats, even at a cosmic level.

Still, this would make things _much_ easier!

And that was when Fred had an epiphany. If _he_ was omnipotent, what was to stop him from just hopping on down to the Burrow for a visit? A very _long_ , extended, make-yourself-at-home kind of visit. Of course it was just at that moment, when he was raising his arms to vanish in a poof of light, that they found him. Without warning he was surrounded by a group of beings wearing white or cream robes and extremely ticked off expressions.

“Those who have reached Ascension are not permitted to interfere in the affairs of mortals!” St. Peter, the obvious leader of this group, said stepping forward with a snarl. Gone was the calm, welcoming guy he’d first woken up to. “It is our most sacred rule!”

Fred baulked, what little control he had left of his temper shredding away as he jumped to his feet.

“What kind of idiotic prats are you?” he cried, throwing up his hands in disgust. “You sit here spouting off this bilge about searching the world for those who do good, who are worthy, and then when you become all-powerful you can’t even use it to help people? Bit hypocritical, don’t you think!” He scanned the group, looking from one sickeningly attractive face to the next, searching for even a hint that they might see the utter insanity of all this, but he found nothing. He decided to try a different approach.

“Look, Your Glowyness, didn’t you say you picked me because I’d done some good in the world, tried to make people happy and laugh, even when things were rather bleak? Well, here’s the secret, though: I didn’t do it alone. There’s a bloke down there, looks a lot like me, name’s George. Maybe you’ve heard of him? We’re sort of a team and we really don’t do well as solo acts. If I stay up here and he stays down there, there’s gonna be a lot less happy in both places, which throws a huge wrench in your mission statement. Send me back and we’re all happy. Don’t send me back and I’ll figure out a way to do it myself.”

A woman stepped forward, gazing at him with the utmost sorrow and pity. “The blind who have no ears will never see,” she said sadly.

Fred glared furiously. “And the stupid who sit around doing nothing will just get stupider!” he shot back. The woman stepped back, rather stung.

“There are rules for a reason!” barked St. Stuffed-Shirt, not listening to a word he’d just said. “To protect the order of the universe! You cannot go back and you cannot interfere!”

And that’s when Fred snapped. “Screw the universe and screw your rules! I’m talking about my family here and there is no way in earth _or_ heaven I’m leaving them down there suffering like that while I sit up here on my keister and practice ancient meditation techniques!” he growled. “So you bet your shiny little bums I’m gonna interfere! I’m gonna bring new meaning to the word ‘interfere!’ I’m gonna pop in on birthdays and at Christmas, show up for spring cleaning and family pictures! Work shifts at the shop and turn in my taxes! I’m gonna interfere so much they won’t know I was even gone!” 

Fred’s voice had been growing louder and louder with each sentence as his fury increased, but he forced himself to stop and leveled the glare he’d learned to do from his mum at the being in front of him. “Sounds like I’m gonna be a whole heap of work, doesn’t it? A real pain in your Ascended posterior,” he drawled slowly. “Save a lot of trouble to just send me back.”

“We do not retake human form!”

Fred shrugged. “Fine. You choose Plan B.” He snapped his fingers, harnessing the raw power he’d just discovered and feeling no guilt whatsoever about broken rules. “Let the games begin and may the best non-corporeal-life-form win.” He picked up a handful of explosives from the pile that had just appeared at his side. “Hope you have good insurance on this place because I’m about to turn your little corner of heaven into a whole big bunch of hell.”

“We will stop you!” hissed St. Stupid.

“Try it,” said Fred and dropped the first payload.

*****

 _The Daily Prophet_ for May 9, 1998 featured a large article on the first page detailing the spectacular sunsets that had been witnessed all around England the night before, described by some as if the sky itself were on fire.

The headline of _The Daily Prophet_ for May 10, 1998 was rather different. The whole front page was dedicated to a story on how Fred Weasley had crashed his own funeral, wearing nothing but a top hat and a grin a mile wide and carrying a bottle of champagne. The event had sent his mother into unconsciousness and the wizarding world into a right tizzy. 

A later, exclusive interview, told the dramatic tale of a case of battlefield amnesia and mistaken identity – the result of a spell gone devastatingly wrong. It was heartbreaking and utterly heroic, and there wasn’t a witch who read it who emerged with dry eyes.

But the real story, the truth, was only ever known by his family and a few select others. How fire had rained down in heaven for one long night. How dogged determination and love of family had won out against rules and regulations. How St. Peter, standing there in his singed and smoking robes, had promised Fred his chance for Ascension was gone and would never come again. The next time he died he’d have to take his fifty-fifty chance on heaven or hell – the man had placed special emphasis on the word _hell_ , which led Fred to believe he didn’t like him too well – same as the rest of the mere mortals out there. How Fred had laughed and said he didn’t mind; he’d always liked those odds. 

Then there was the part where St. Holds-A-Grudge had conveniently forgotten to mention the detail about retaking human form al la birthday suit. That sly little trick put the score dead even according to Fred’s books. After all, how long could it take a bunch of bored, omnipotent control freaks to put heaven back together after a guerrilla war? Ten minutes? But him restoring his reputation after the See More Fred Show at his own funeral? Could take a lifetime…

Something he was very glad to have again.

And the article on sunsets? Fred secretly held to his dying day that it was the only story _The Prophet_ ever got right. 

 

* Quote from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ by J.K. Rowling, Chapter 31, p 636.


End file.
